Owen doesn't speak while we drive back. I rest my head against the window and end up drifting into a light sleep. But then I see the man again with my eyes closed shut. I see his wicked grin. I see him pulling me away, taking me towards wherever he might have taken me.

I open my eyes back up, breathing deeply. Owen has the car pulled over and opens the passenger side door. His hand gently touches my cheek and I look up into his eyes. His eye look concerned. I must have been screaming in my sleep.

"Are you alright?" He asks me. I nod my head, trying to calm my breathing. "I'm going to keep driving. Is that okay?"

I nod again, and he reluctantly closes the car door and returns to his side. He doesn't start the car back up for a few moments. He looks at me after staring at his steering wheel for a while.

"We can talk about what just happened when we get back. But we need to let your mom and sister know you're alright first," he says.

I agree wholeheartedly. I know we need to talk about what happened. I'm just nervous about what I'll find out about my past. Who that man was. How he knew me.

I also know that my family must be worried about me.

My hands keep shaking when my thoughts go to what happened earlier. What could have happened if Owen wasn't there.

It takes about twenty minutes for us to get to my house. My mom is out on the porch, talking on the phone. My sister is beside her, pacing back and forth. Owen parks the car and we both get out.

Before I know what's happening, Clarin is enfolding me in a hug. Her head is on my shoulder and she's sobbing, shoulders shaking. I lean my head against hers.

"I was so scared," she says, voice cracking. "I thought something terrible had happened."

"It's okay," I say quietly. "I'm okay."

She pulls away and smiles through her tears. This time my mom comes over to me and takes me in her arms. It's strange, their attachment to me. In my mind, I hardly even know them.

Owen stands beside me when my mom releases me. He looks at everyone for a moment, eyes cold.

"I found her downtown. Jonathan had found her," he says. Clarin's eyes grow big and she opens her mouth but says nothing. My mother tilts her head down so I can't see her expression but I can hear a sharp intake of breath.

"Why-Who is that?" I ask quietly. Everyone seems to affected by his name, yet I know nothing.

"I think I need some time to talk to her," Owen says to the others.

My mom and Clarin nod in agreement. We all start walking inside, through the door. Owen and I walk up the stairs. My legs feel shaky still. I don't know if that's from all the running, or if it's because I still haven't released the feeling of terror.

"Wait- Owen?" My mom calls from downstairs. Owen stops, looking back to her. "Don't... Remember not to mention him."

Owen grimaces and nods.

I raise my eyebrows at him expectantly, but he is consciously ignoring my stares.

When we get to my room, Owen sits on the couch next to me. He's quiet for a while, looking at his hands. I don't say anything. I just watch him and wait.

"Jonathan was your boyfriend through your Junior year," he says finally. He doesn't look up. His jaw clenches. "I didn't like him from the get-go. He was already a senior, in my year. I had seen him doing things I would never want you to associate with. You were my best friend. I tried to warn you about him, naturally. And you, being stubborn, decided your judgement was better than mine."

"I didn't listen to you?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"No," he says. "You didn't. Still don't. Nothing has changed. But your stubbornness, oddly enough, is something I like about you. That isn't meant to be an insult to you. Anyways, you started dating him."

I think of the man that caught me on the road. The man whose appearance frightened me. How could I possibly have ever decided to date him? I was afraid to get within five feet of him.

"You were happy at first, so I just let you be. But then, about three weeks into the relationship, you started fighting. It wasn't just simple arguments. You would come home crying almost every night. Clarin told me you were up on the phone until at least midnight yelling at each other almost every single night," he says, and I can see his eyebrows draw together. His knuckles are white from clenching his hands together so hard.

I don't know why I do it. But I do. I reach out and grab one of his hands and hold it in my own. His infers easily intertwine with mine. It feels completely natural.

He looks surprised at my actions at first, looking up at me, mouth open. Then he continues, eyes on mine now. "It affected you a lot. You didn't talk to anyone. You would flinch at the slightest sounds or voices raised near you. I tried to talk to you. You were so distant from everyone. I couldn't communicate through to you anymore."

He pauses, shaking his head. He presses his lips together, jaw clenching. His eyes search mine as if trying to hold on to something to keep himself from throwing things across the room.

"I don't think you realize how hard it was to see you that way. You never smiled. You cried so much. It hurt me to see you that way," he says.

I feel strange now, having him sit here and talk to me about how sad I used to be. What problems I had. It's strange to hear about how it affected him.

"It was the day you came home with a minor concussion and a bruise on your jaw that I lost it. I went to school with furious adrenaline running through me. I showed him no mercy. And I was suspended for three days," he says, eyes dark. "I don't regret it. I told him that if he ever took another step near you I would finish him off. He never talked to me again. I finally convinced you to break apart from him."

I look away from his eyes. Jonathan, the one who found me downtown, had hurt me before. He made my life terrible for an entire year. And I just ran into him.

"Thank you for telling me this," I say, voice small.

"This is something you deserve to know," he says simply. But then he looks away awkwardly. He seems uncomfortable for some reason.

I sit up straight. For some reason his words bother me. I feel anger rise up in me, heating my being. It's strange feeling sorrow one moment and the next what seems to be rage.

"So this is something I deserve to hear, but not about our past?" I ask, and my voice sounds harsher than I intended it to.

He lets out a sigh, looking down. "What happened before the accident is complicated and I've explained it before-"

"No! Tell me. I can handle it! I am myself. Whether you like it or not, this is who I am now. You can't trust me with simple information," I say, anger turning my face pink.

"You aren't listening to me," Owen says calmly. "You're too stubborn, see?When you get your memory back, you'll understand exactly why I didn't tell you. I don't know your end of it. I don't want you to get that knowledge back and blame me for taking advantage of you."

"That makes no sense!" I exclaim.

"It will."

"How do you know I even will get my memory back?" I ask, letting out a frustrated breath. "What would you do then? Never talk to me again, because I obviously can't take it since I'm not my normal self?"

"You will remember. I know you will," Owen says.

"You don't know anything," I hiss.

"Look, I know this is a stressful time for you. But it isn't easy on me either. You taking out all your anger and frustration on me is not helping anything. It's not going to make either me or you happy," he says.

"I'm not saying these things because of stress. I'm saying them because I think it's only fair that I know! I hardly know a thing about my past. You're really going to keep this away from me when I'm already in the dark about so many things? About myself?" I ask, standing up from the bed.

"You won't be in the dark much longer. It's been three weeks since the accident. Your memories will start flooding back any given moment now. You have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow," he says.

"I know almost nothing about mys-"

"I have already told you, Brinley! It isn't something I can discuss with you in your current state. I would be disrespecting you if I had mentioned how we were dating after the accident. You want to know something about yourself? About your past? You can be impatient, insufferable, and you refuse to agree with anyone. It's tiring sometimes," he yells at me, standing up now as well.

I don't know what it is. Maybe his yelling isn't something I'm used to. Maybe his words actually get to me. Either way, I don't want to look at him anymore. I've already had a nightmarish day. I already just want it to be done and now he's mad at me. I feel tears rise in my eyes.

"I didn't mean that, Brinley," he says, voice softer now, as if he can see the damage he's done. "I've never liked arguing with you. Just please, please trust me with this. I know that's difficult for you. But please."

I sit back down on the bed and clasp my hands together. I don't look at him. I know he's trying to look out for me but I can't shake the feeling away. What if I don't get my memory back? Then what, I'm stuck in confusion forever? I'll never be worth the truth? It makes me sick to think about.

"It's almost one in the morning," Owen says finally. "I need to get going. I'll see you in the morning okay?"

"You're going to the appointment?" I ask, looking up and into his green eyes now.

"I am," he nods.

The final appointment. Where either I hear about my brain activity being able to work itself back together or not. If I'll remember or not.